


Bits and Bobs

by Meztli



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Anthology, Canon Compliant, Canon and non-canon couples, Established Relationship, F/F, F/M, Family Fluff, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Humor, It's mostly gochi but there will be other couples, Mother-Son Relationship, Multi, Multiple Pairings, Romantic Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-14
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2018-10-31 21:02:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 11,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10907409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meztli/pseuds/Meztli
Summary: A collection of one-shots and drabbles involving members of the Son family. Some are canon-compliant, others are AU. Some chapters are focused on romantic relationships, others on interpersonal relationships of another sort.I'll post the rating at the beginning of each chapter under the "notes" section (ex: M, T, G)





	1. Something to Look Forward to

**Author's Note:**

> A Tumblr friend (Betaruga) encouraged me to post the one-shots I wrote during GoChi and Son Week on here and on ff.net. This first one I'm posting I wrote for her birthday, and it's GoChi, since that's her OTP (as well as mine). 
> 
> This is an AU in which Goku and ChiChi never met as kids and are in an arranged marriage set up by the Ox King and Grandpa Gohan. 
> 
> Rated: T

Dark eyes go round as they take in the sight of a man with no visible ounce of fat on his godly body ingest food at a pace and in a quantity that would rupture the stomach of a regular human.

Being of a warrior clan, ChiChi isn’t the kind of princess with the formal, genteel etiquette and diction one might expect of a traditional royal heiress, and she certainly isn’t unfamiliar with the boorish, sometimes wildly inappropriate conduct of lower-class folk who she on occasion mingles and socializes with. 

But the way this man tears into meat with teeth as white as eggshells and devours food the way a whale swallows an entire school of fish is something ChiChi had not witnessed until now, not even from her own beloved father, who is thrice the size and weight of this beautiful man she is to marry in less than a week.

Instead of eating, she stares at him. She’s been doing that a lot since he arrived. Staring. He sure is fine to look at, but that’s not the only reason why he holds her eye’s attention. He’s an enigma. Simple and complex at the same time. She supposes that she only has the rest of her life to figure him out. 

She stifles a snicker upon seeing her usually composed and always reliable butler Piccolo turn almost green with revulsion.

Her father, the Ox King, on the other hand, appears entirely amused and pleased at the enthusiasm in which his future-son-in-law feasts. His massive chest and belly bounces as he heartily chuckles and makes the room vibrate with the reverberations of his laughter. “So you like the food, eh? Good, good. My girl here, see, she helped make most of it, and it’s her own recipe. Ain’t that right, ChiChi?”

The bottomless (yet shapely) pit known as Son Goku pauses and gives ChiChi a considering look, a look he hasn’t given her since they met yesterday in the morning. She feels her cheeks burn slightly as her husband-to-be regards her.

“Really?” He asks through a mouthful of partially masticated food, some of which flies out of his mouth and onto the table. ChiChi nods as he finishes chewing and swallowing the remainder of what’s in his mouth.

“Well that’s something to look forward to when we get married!” He says in between licks of his fingers, a wide, big dumb grin on his face. His voice is devoid of any trace of sarcasm. Chichi feels a wave of disbelief roll over her bones, and then anger bubbles up inside her.

The sound of wooden pegs scraping against a marbled floor catches everyone’s attention as ChiChi abruptly pushes her chair back and rises from her seat.

“If you’ll excuse me,” ChiChi announces, dismissing herself in a manner she knows is a bit rude but doesn’t care. If he can be rude in her own home then so can she.

She can hear the confusion in her father’s voice. “But you haven’t even finished your dinner.”

“I’ve had enough.”

As she leaves, she hears, “If she ain’t gonna finish that, can I have it?”

*

*

According to his gramps, he’s upset his bride-to-be, and now he must apologize, though he really doesn’t know what he has to apologize for.

He’s been nice to her, at least in the brief moments of interaction they’ve had, smiling at her and repeating some of the phrases his grandpa had instructed him to address at the princess and the king.

He had wanted to tell her she smelled good, but gramps had advised against it for reasons he vaguely explained and still didn’t understand. 

She really does smell good, like campfire and mixture of spices, and something that’s distinctly her. It’s one of the things he first noticed about her, one of the things he likes about her, one of the few things he actually does know about her.

He’s only known her for less than two days, after all.

For some reason, it’s considered “inappropriate” for the two of them to be alone together, so this Piccolo guy, who despite his formality is ripped and huge and looks like he’d be a good sparring partner, is escorting him to the princess’s chamber door to apologize for something he apparently did, and when he asks Piccolo what it was he did that made the princess upset the butler merely responds with a gruff “hymph” and a frown deeper than the one he always seems to carry. 

But when they call on the princess, she isn’t there.

*

*

Piccolo is still following him around like a grey cloud, unwilling to make conversation with him and declining his invitations to spar with curt replies and grunts. Goku doesn’t get it. If this supposed to be a warrior clan, then why is everyone here so stiff, so curt with him?

He wishes he was home.

The marriage was gramps’ and the Ox King’s day idea, a solution to the rift that had occurred between the two elders after the Ox King had married the woman Grandpa Gohan had also intended to ask to marry.

Goku still doesn’t quite understand how a dispute between two people who’ve known each other nearly their entire lives can be settled by marrying two other people who’d known each other for a heartbeat, but if that’s what his gramps wants him to do, well then he’ll do it.

Even so, Goku feels out of place in this vast, cavernous yet restricting castle, and he takes advantage of Piccolo’s distraction of ordering staff members around to escape both Piccolo and the castle, exiting through a window three stories high to land swiftly on his feet.

*

*

Not far there is a river, where Goku can fish and tame his growling belly, cooking his catch over an open fire, the way he does back home. A wave of sadness hits him as he remembers that he has to trade his small, cozy cottage and vast lands for a vast but stuffy structure and unfamiliar grounds.

The song of a coursing river sings in his ears, and over that, he hears the grunts and “kya’s” of a softer yet strong voice. Nearing the banks of the river, he sees her. She’s practicing katas in a clearing of grass near the riverside, unware of his presence. 

She’s wearing attire that is different from the fancy getup he’s seen her in since he first laid eyes on her. She wears a simple blue and red cheongsam over bright red pants, and he finds that he likes her in these clothes more than in the luxurious silks she seems to be uncomfortable and forced into. In these clothes, she moves like wind, bending her limbs with graceful fluidity, her torso gyrating in a way that draws his attention closer, just now realizing that beneath the layer of fabric there is a toned, defined belly that is probably as smooth and hard as unblemished stone.

His feet move further without thinking about much else except the patterns she makes with her long, pale arms, drawn to her as if within those twisting hands there are mini-cyclones forming that pull him forward.

Her form is similar to that of the Kame-style he was trained in, except much more beautiful to look at, like watching the branches of trees sway in the currents.

The sun-dried grass sighs out in under his weighted boots, alerting ChiChi. She arrests her movements and twirls towards where Goku stands in alert, her already sun-flushed face flaming brighter as she spots him. Sweat drips off her chin as her mouth opens in alarm.

A sheepish grin spreads his mouth, wishing he hadn’t interrupted her admirable choreography. He places his palms out in front of him in a pacifying gesture, “Don’t stop on account of me.”

The startled lines of her brow crease as her black eyes narrow at him. She wipes her sweaty brow and sets her arms akimbo. “What’re ya doin’ out here? And where’s Piccolo?”

Goku grins at her apologetically. For some reason, she makes him feel nervous, but in a way that’s not entirely unpleasant. “I don’t really like being followed around, so I kind of ditched him. Plus, I needed some fresh air and food. Ain’t used to castles. Or this heat.”

It didn’t take him long to learn why they call this kingdom Panfry Mountain.

ChiCh looks at him like she didn’t hear him right. “Food?”

“Yeah. I’m gonna catch myself a fish or four.”

“But you just. You just ate three hours ago.” Her voice is incredulous. He’s heard this tone of voice from other folk who think him strange.

“Exactly!”

She shakes her head and sighs at him- long and deep but with a twinge of a smile. “You sure are somethin’ ain’t ya?”

“Dunno what you mean. But hey, I gotta say, you sure are something yourself. You got a good form. I bet you’re a strong fighter. Been hearing folks say that about ya.”

Her (full, pink) lips upturn to a confident smile. “'Course I’m strong. My pa is one of the strongest fighters in the world. Trained me himself. Ain’t no man ever beat me.”

“That so?” Goku says, feeling his blood ringing with anticipation. He’s wanted to spar with someone from this clan, but his gramps had advised against it, particularly against him sparring with ChiChi, saying that that’s no way to charm a princess, even if she is a fighter herself. But ChiChi looks like she could give him a good match, and he discards Grandpa Gohan’s advice to the depths of his reason and asks her :” How about we have a friendly spar? Test out that theory?”

She looks at him with blinking eyes, that tenseness he’s come to associate with her seeping back into her frame and settling on her shoulders. But then it’s gone, and she smirks at him, and that smirk does something down his spine that feels like when he rubs his feet against carpet and touches something metallic, and he mirrors the expression on her face as she positions herself into an offensive stance.

For a moment, they are still, making no movements but the rise and fall of their chests and the bat of eyelashes. He can tell she is sensing his chi, as he is doing hers, bouncing off each other, feeling their one another’s aura before any contact is made.

And then, she charges at him, her feet fast and buoyant as she’s skimming the air.

Bending his upper-body backwards, he avoids her angled roundhouse kick and takes another step backwards as yet another arc of her leg is swept towards him. Then, he deflects a side-chop aimed at his neck with his forearm, feeling her chi swell up in frustration as he continues to dodge and repel all her attacks.

Her movements are precise, well-executed and fast, yet they are far too hurried and tactless. He tells her this, which only seems to anger her.

“Why don’tcha attack me? You afraid to hit a woman?” She shouts, launching a fist that manages to hit the end of one the spikes in his hair.

“It’s not that. I can’t hit you when you aren’t focused right,” he says, deflecting yet another intended blow. He hadn’t considered he was fighting a woman. To him, she was another warrior, a person strong and powerful. “It’s like you’re mad at me or something.’”

“I am mad at ya!” She yells, alarming a bird somewhere nearby with the ferocity of her tone.

Goku’s brow creases with confusion, sidestepping another hasty attack of hers from his left. “Why?”

Wouldn’t be the first time someone fought him out of anger, but he always knew the reasons, however minor their motives were, such as him eating the last of the pork buns. He couldn’t think of anything he specifically did to make her so angry at him.

“You humiliated me!” She grinds the words out as he stalls another angled kick with one of his own, the impact shooting up his leg in shocks. They each draw back a few feet apart from one another.

“How?”

ChiChi shakes her head, and he’s sure if it weren’t for the straight bangs concealing her ample forehead, he’d see a vein popping out like an angry, thin snake trapped under skin. “Do I really gotta spell it out for ya? Fine, I’ll tell you when you defeat me!”

A simple enough request, though he wishes that it didn’t have to end so abruptly. “Alright. Here it comes.”

With a push of his legs, he sails forward, so fast she has no time to react except widen her eyes as his fist gets her in the jaw and sends her flying backwards towards an old, massive tree. Before her spine can hit the trunk, Goku reacts quickly and catches her mid-flight, rotating her to the other side so that it’s his back that hits the ancient tree, the impact causing the treebark to crack and split open, sending the upper-half of the tall, grand tree crashing down with a loud, resonating thump and a flurry of furiously flapping wings and shaken chirps.

He prays to Kami that there weren’t any occupied nests in that tree. Against him, ChiChi’s pulse bangs and racks is chest. 

“Shoot, I didn’t mean to hit ya so hard. Sorry about that,” he apologizes, feeling warmer due to the heat emanating from her body. She’s soft, he thinks, but also firm, like fresh hard-pressed clay. And her smell. It’s even better now, a hint of added spiciness that wasn’t there before, making tongue stick to the roof of his mouth as if he’d smelled a juicy cut of steak.

“I-it’s fine!” She yelps, throwing herself back to land her bum on the crab grass. With a little more grace this time, she pulls herself up, her face red as she pats and smooths the lines of her cheongsam and pants. Looking away from him, her voice lowers to a softer tone as she says, “You didn’t have to take the brunt of the force. I’m no delicate flower.”

“That you ain’t,” he says, noting the hard lines of her figure and the delicate shape of her jaw that belies the strength behind it. A weaker person would have had a bruise where his fist struck. “So that makes me the first man to have bested you in a match, huh? Now are you gonna tell me what it is I did that made you so mad?”

For a second, he thinks she’s going to yell at him again as her frown reappears. He’s surprised when instead she smiles wistfully, her tone almost sad. “Neither one of us really wanted this marriage, ‘specially you, since unlike me, you shoulda been free to marry anyone you wanted, bein’ someone of the common folk an’ all. Me, on the other hand, I knew that one day I was supposed to marry a prince, even if I didn’t like him. So when I saw you I…”

“Was disappointed?”

“No! I mean, you’re not what I ever expected, but I wasn’t upset at all. I don’t really care if you’re a prince or not. You’re strong, and in that respect, you’re worthy of bein’ my husband. But… Can’t you just pretend that this marriage ain’t a joke to ya, especially in front of our families? It’s embarrassin’ to have my fiancé be more interested in food than in me, let alone say it front of everyone. “ She veers her black eyes at him, and then back to the dry, dull grass, as if looking at him causes her discomfort. “It may sound vain, but I ain’t used ta boys not thinkin’ I’m pretty and staring. I ain’t used to being the one who stares.”

“I know you don’t wanna marry me, but can you please make the effort to hide how much you don’t want to?”

The way her face is pulled down makes his belly flop with guilt he can’t explain.

“But I do wanna marry ya,” he blurts, surprising even himself. He’s never thought about wanting to marry her until this moment, he’s only thought about how he has to marry her.

Her shocked expression quickly shifts to an irritated scowl. He’s never seen someone go through so many emotions in so little time. It’s wild and fascinating, almost like when an opponent comes at him with an astonishing, secret move he doesn’t expect.

“For my cooking, right?” she doesn’t sound happy saying it.

“Yeah, but not just that. I like how you smell. I like how you look when you’re fightin’, and I even kinda like how you yell at me,” he chuckles, thinking how strange it is to like being scared, and how funny and oddly cute it is too see her face look so conflicted at his confession. “I like you, ChiChi. I think this marriage thing might be more exciting than I thought.”

Her tongue seems to be stuck in her mouth, because only a noise that wants to be a word comes out. 

“Hey, since ya cooked for me, how about I roast us a catch? I don’t have your skills in the kitchen- I don’t think I’ve ever tasted food tastier than yours- but I know how to make the skin nice an’ flaky,” he says, grabbing the hem of his shirt to pull it over his head in a flourish of black spikes and muscles.

ChiChi makes a noise in the back of her throat that sounds like a mouse cornered into a wall. “What are ya doin?”

“I can’t go in there with my clothes or they’ll get wet,” he replies, thinking how silly it is for her to not reach this perfectly logical conclusion as he starts working on the strings around his waistband.

His skull rattles as something hard and compact hits his jaw, twisting his neck and head around as an “unf” sounds escapes his lips that pucker from both the impact and alarm. 

“Wait till the honeymoon, ya pervert!” ChiChi spouts, her fist held out before her as she looms over him with her lips pulled back from two rows of straight, clean teeth. She stomps away with her hands bunched up and at either side of her hips, where Goku maintains his eyes in fascination as they sway side to side in a determined, fiery trot.

Whatever a honeymoon is, he doesn’t care, all he knows is that if this is the kind of vision and sensation he’ll get for the rest of his life, then he’s completely okay with that.


	2. Toy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After his return from Yardrat, Goku finds a strange device that belongs to ChiChi under their bed. Rated: M. Oh my...

"Hey, Chi, what’s this?” Her husband innocently questioned, curiously eyeing a purple phallic object in his hand that he found in a lidded plastic container under the bed while she’d been bathing. He followed the inquiry with an audible sniff. “Smells like you.”

  
All the blood from her body rushed up to hit her face with a burn. His name came out of her mouth in a shriek. Within a millisecond, she flew across the room to yank the offending object from her husband’s grip, the momentum causing the towel concealing her breasts to loosen and slide off her body. Goku’s expression was baffled as he watched his little, naked, and extremely flustered wife shove the colorful item forcefully inside her underwear drawer.

  
She knew she should have stuffed it somewhere in the deepest corner of the closet, or better yet, the attic, under a pile of dusty, heavy boxes stocked with junk nobody remembered nor missed.

  
Goku’s return from the cosmos had decommissioned the item from its usefulness, and having been thoroughly distracted by the real thing her husband had to offer the last few days, ChiChi had forgotten about the device she had frequently used to fulfill her urges during his long absence.

  
The ruffled housewife didn’t look at her husband as she reached for- Oh, that’s right, she’d hid the vibrator in her underwear drawer, which she needed to open in order to retrieve her panties. With lightning-quick speed, ChiChi opened and yanked whatever panty her hand first touched and shut the drawer, trying to ignore the garish phallus amidst the pile of undies.

She turned her back to him as she silently slipped on the garment, her face still hot.

  
“Uh, Chi, aren’t ya gonna tell me what that was?”

  
“No!” She snapped, and hurried to the other side of the room to find something to wear. What had he been doing looking under the bed anyway?

  
“But why are you so bothered by it? Come on, you can tell me. Is it a weapon?”

  
She would have laughed if she wasn’t so damn embarrassed and angry, angrier at herself for being so careless than at her stupid, naïve husband.

  
She swerved around to face him, still naked everywhere except for the small cloth covering her nether region. “Goku, you were gone for over a year. I needed to find a way to satisfy my… needs.”

  
“Huh? What’s this got to do with food?”

  
She nearly fell forward. “Sex! I mean sex, dummy.” Of course. One couldn’t be subtle with Goku in order for him to understand. Moving passed her dumbfounded husband, she exasperatingly took a seat on the edge of her bed, crossing her arms across her naked breasts, feeling red all over as she tried to find the words to explain. “You know how you sometimes touch yourself when you feel the urge but don’t have me around? Women do that too, and sometimes we use certain tools that help us feel good when we can’t or don’t want to have sex with a real man. That thing that you saw was what I used when you weren’t around and I wanted sex.”

  
Daring to look up at her husband, she saw his face shifting to confusing to dawning comprehension. “So you stick that thing in your-“

  
“Yes, Goku!” She interrupted, shutting her eyes close from the shame. Just like Goku to be unrefined and blunt about everything. Well, she was the one who owned such a thing, so what did that make her? ChiChi may never have had the tool if it hadn’t been given to her as a consolatory gift from Bulma while Goku was off in space doing who knows what.

  
One day she came home to find a package sitting on her footstep from Capsule Corp addressed to her. Upon seeing the object, ChiChi was as confused as Goku was mere moments ago, thinking that it was perhaps a kitchen item that the blue-haired heiress had invented… until she read the note on what its purpose was for. She’d nearly fallen off her chair from the shock.

  
After her jarring effect had receded somewhat, a measure of relief washed over her in knowing that Gohan hadn’t been around to see her open the package. Even if he had, she could have dismissed, but her reaction would have given her away that something had flustered her.

  
At first, she was tempted to send the thing back to Bulma with an angry note and perhaps a call to show the woman a piece of her mind for sending her that filth. She even considered personally showing up to the mansion and fling the lewd device at her. But the thought of speaking of it to anyone brought her even more discomfort. She would have discarded it if she wasn’t afraid someone would find it, or at least that’s what she told herself. Somewhere in the recesses of her subconscious, the curiosity and desire to try the pleasure item on herself overrode the modest side of her.

  
Eventually, the buildup had become so powerful, that she did use it, warming herself up by thinking of the intimate moments between her and her husband, sometimes coming up with scenarios in which he would return home.

She did eventually and discreetly send a thank you note to Bulma months later. Apparently, the model the Bulma had sent her had been something she’d designed herself, the highest and most pleasurable of all the stimulators that was so exclusive, there were only two models like them in the world, the other of which the genius inventor owned herself.

  
But she wasn’t about to tell Goku that it had been a gift from Bulma. That secret she could at least keep. She was sure Bulma would appreciate the omission of her involvement in ChiChi’s coping mechanism.

  
ChiChi’s bottom lifted slightly into air as Goku’s weight abruptly dropped onto the spot next to her, wrapping a hefty, muscular arm around her small frame as the shift in the mattress caused her to slide into him. She wriggled half-heartedly in his hold, still annoyed but also relishing the contact of his skin on hers. He too was only partially dressed, wearing his usual orange pants over boxers and nothing else. Having bathed earlier, his scent was a mixture of soap and his own wild musk. Oh, she hated how enticing it was. If only his hair still wasn’t that delinquent shade of blond.

  
“It’s okay, Chi. You don’t need to be embarrassed. But y’know, you don’t need to use that thing anymore. I’m here now.”

Her skin prickled at the low register of his voice, the words he spoke vibrating in her ears and shooting fire down her back, her limbs, everything.

Before she could reply to that, her breath caught as his calloused hand traveled up her toned thigh, stroking as gently as he possibly could for someone with such colossal strength.

“Although,” he said, the last syllable drawling into a contemplative, almost teasing tone. “I am kinda curious to see ya try it out on yourself.”

Squeaking, she placed her palms on his chest and shoved him away, or tried to anyway. His body was built like a brick wall, and she ended more or less propelling herself backwards instead. “D-don’t say such things!”

It was so unlike him to be this sensual. Perhaps the transformation has changed him in more ways than one. Ever since he’d return, the very first thing he wanted to do after eating food, was her. And he did, when Gohan was away with any of his friends for an interval of time, something that ChiChi suspected they’d agreed upon doing as a favor to Goku beforehand, if the knowing looks and nods they exchanged was anything to go by.

  
Incidentally (or not), Gohan was away at moment, training with that Piccolo character, leaving them alone in their humble dome-shaped home.  
Goku looked at her puzzlingly, his sea-green eyes blinking back confusion “What’s so wrong about that? I told ya you shouldn’t be embarrassed.”

Embarrassed wasn’t quite what she felt now. More of… Indignation. “It’s lewd.”

“Aw come on, we’ve done plenty of lewd stuff these last few days,” he said a matter-of-factly, ending the statement with uncharacteristically teasing smirk.

For a split second, her brain short-circuited at the playful gesture, and then she quickly picked up her wits to rebuff him. “It’s not the same thing!”

“How so?” He asked, regaining the baffled expression on his countenance.

Despite having been married to this man for years, it was not easy for her to talk about intimate matters without blushing profusely, especially when it came to masturbation, which really had never been discussed up until that point. “Well cuz… Cuz you’d be watching me. Doing things with something that isn’t you.”

Goku did not let up. “So? If It’s so bad why’d ya do it?

“I just told you!” She exclaimed, spinning around and determined to finally put on something so that she wasn’t standing around in just her underwear while preaching the virtues of modesty.

  
As she was reaching for undershirt, warm strong arms encircled her waist from behind, and she was flung back into a compact chest. Large, rough hands trailed up her abdomen to cup her breasts, wiggling them around as if they were kneading bread. In hardly any time, she felt her groin slicken as Goku played with her breasts.

“Alright hey, I won’t make ya do it if you don’t want to. But,” he said, rubbing his groin against her tail bone, heat emanating through his pants and igniting her own fire. “Can we still have sex? Thinking about you using that thing on yourself made me really hard.”

  
The good thing about living out in a secluded area is that no one but clueless woodland creatures can hear the screams of ecstasy that your significant other tears out of you, and truly nothing can compare to the real thing, not even an expertly crafted toy designed to do something that your husband does better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this was a bit silly but I like sexy humor ;)


	3. A Game of Twister

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tbh I forgot this existed and that's why I haven't updated in a while. I'm sorry.
> 
> In this story: the family plays Twister. Things get awkward for Gohan. 
> 
> Rated: T with sexually suggestive content

“Left foot, red.”

“Unf, Goku watch it!”

“Sorry, sorry! It can’t be helped.”

ChiChi huffed, forehead perspiring as she shifted to stretch her left foot onto the red dot marking the spotted plastic mat that she, her husband, and her youngest son were spread over on. The further into the game they played the more challenging and awkward their positions became, having to contort their bodies in order to reach a colored dot with one of their extremities. 

Outside, the rain pelted the house relentlessly, forcing them to cancel their fishing trip and find a way to spend family hour indoors. Until today, none of them had ever played the game known as Twister, and ChiChi had little idea what she was getting herself into until her limbs were at angles she hadn’t known she could bend them in. 

She wasn’t sure as to how they came to acquire the game, though it was likely that it had been one among Grandfather Ox’s stack of gifts to Gohan right before her baby had been kidnapped, her husband killed, and her life ripped apart. No wonder they’d kept it locked up in the shed for all those years.

Goten and Goku were having a blast, regarding it as a good way to stretch one’s muscles and practice flexibility. She was also enjoying herself, until:

“Right hand blue,” called Gohan, the self-appointed spinner and referee of the game. 

Bending to that area placed her rear approximate to Goku’s face, and she was unable to stifle the squeak she produced, nor hide the redness that colored her face. From near her, she heard Goten and Goku snicker at her expense. She was tempted to kick out her leg from behind her like a horse to knock the wind out of Goku, but that was considered a foul within the rules of Twister.

Unfortunately, the next move didn’t do anything to change her predicament, as her bottom was still inches away from Goku’s face and she was sure he was staring at it with an immature grin.

“Er, uh, right hand in the air,” said Gohan, his voice somewhere between amused and disturbed at the position his parents were in. She would have voluntarily eliminated herself if she was the type to be a quitter.

“Right foot green,” Gohan said next, and with that, her little Goten tumbled over and was eliminated, unable to stretch far enough to touch the green dot without losing his balance.

So it was down to her and Goku now. At least her butt was no longer near his face.

“You did good, bud. It’s cuz your limbs aren’t as long as ours that you got eliminated. I lost my first tournament because my legs were too short to have a strong enough kick against my opponent.”

ChiChi smiled. The reason neither of his parents had let him win was because Goten always insisted that they never do during competitions of any kind, but Goku still tried to offer words to ease his defeat, and often advice would come along with it. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Goten said, unbothered by his loss.

The game continued, and it was a good thing she was flexible because some of the contortions they were forced to do would have made an average person fall to their defeat. It didn’t take long for the next move to land her in a lewd position with her husband, however. The two of them were almost atop each other, Goku hovering close to her chest and blinking up at her with a boyish grin. ChiChi’s face grew in temperature and she nearly fell back on the mat. She could read on his expression that he knew that his proximity was making her get all flustered. 

“Oh geez, I don’t know if I can do this anymore. Here, Goten, you take over,” Gohan announced, handing over the spinner to his baby brother.

“Huh? How come?”

“Just take it,” Gohan insisted, and then, “Actually, it’s probably better that you come with me, Goten. Let’s go get ice cream in the city or something.”

“Oh boy, ice cream!”

“But it’s still raining outside! You’ll catch a cold!” ChiChi said from where she remained on the mat, unable to move due to Goku still being stationed above her.

“It’s ok, mom, we’ll wear our jackets,” Gohan said, already gathering his raincoat. Being an adult, Gohan had become more free-willed and independent of his parents, sometimes a little too much. 

“But-”

“ChiChi,” Goku said to her in a hushed tone, “I think Gohan wants to give us some time alone.” His low, almost playful tone elicited chills down her back, throwing her off balance to land on her butt. She stared up at Goku with wide-eyes as he chuckled lightly.

“Looks like I win,” he declared through his teeth, sitting back on his haunches while crossing his sinewy, bulky arms over his chest.

“Okay, now, bye mom, bye dad!” Gohan yelled as he hastily rushed him and his brother out the door, a blur of colors in her vision.

Leaving no further room for her to protest, ChiChi stared at where her boys had exited for a short moment before redirecting her gaze to Goku, an irritated scowl blooming on her visage. “How could you think such things in front of our children?!”

Goku tilted his head, puckering his mouth. “I wasn’t thinking anything until Gohan brought it up.” He then chuckled, clearly unperturbed by the state of discomfiture their suggestive position had put Gohan in. Gohan, who probably already knew why their stance had been suggestive, thanks to that public sexual education program his school had, no doubt. Gohan, whose innocent mind she now confirmed was corrupted.

“But now that we’re alone,” Goku said, crawling up and above her like a panther, making her forget her own name. “Maybe we can still have some fun?”

ChiChi’s brain sputtered as heat crackled through the fabric of her pants at the sensation of his shapely thighs rubbing against her legs. He was descending down to kiss her neck when her reflexes kicked in and both her hands shot up to his chest, stalling his advances with a push. “G-Goku, this is indecent!”

“Aw, come on, we rarely get to do it cuz you’re afraid the boys will hear us. And when we do, you say we have to be quiet and it isn’t as fun as when we’re able to be loud.”

Goku was pouting, pouting, as he looked up at her with beseeching, dark eyes. In addition to that, his comment had implanted images as well as the sounds that they made during love-making sessions, the groans and whimpers of pleasure that filled her head, burning her to the ears with intense heat.

Damn that man and his tendency to win at nearly everything he did, including the art of seduction.

Well, there was one thing she could rival him in. A slow, mischievous smile snaked up her lips as she stood up to leer at her husband, shaking her hair loose from her bun as a signal to him. “Alright, Goku, fine, you win this round. But the next one match will have to be moved to the bedroom.”

“You mean?”

ChiChi nodded, and an excited holler from her husband later, was scooped promptly off her feet and into his eager arms as he rushed them into their bedroom, where Chichi demonstrated just how really flexible she could get.


	4. Where he belongs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More Gochi. Rated M for non-graphic depictions of sex

Sometimes, when she concentrates hard enough, she can feel him. Not a solid touch, like the feel of calloused yet gentle fingers skimming her skin or the brush of a tongue and moistened chapped lips against the sensitive dip between her breasts, but rather the same sensation those touches give her, the chills against her spine and the warm licks inside her belly.

Sometimes, when she listens close enough, she can hear him. Not a memory calling her name, or her mind playing cruel tricks on her heart, but a voice real and soft, echoing in her eardrums like the whispers of the ocean locked inside a conch shell.

But though she may sense him, she cannot see him, except as a visitor in her dreams or an imprint in her memory, or a smiling image captured within a frame.

.

.

So when the day comes when he’s really there, not as ghost in her memory or sensation deeper than skin, but as a body warm with blood, she is overwhelmed.

And she cries. She cries as he fills the void in her soul and the void between her thighs, hugging his shaft as strong and desperate as a lover’s last embrace.

“I’m hurting you,” he says, the zealous motions of his pelvis ceasing as he registers the tears mixing with sweat and dampening her cheeks. His voice is like the sound of glass breaking. “I’m sorry, ChiChi.”

“Don’t stop, Goku,” she replies, pushing him back inside her as he moves to separate their hips. “If you stop I’ll send you back to the afterlife.” She threatens him as she rolls her groin against him encouragingly, and she sees his eyes flutter back as he loses himself inside her once again.

.

.

“You can talk to someone through King Kai, right? Why didn’t you ever try talking to me?” She asks a moment after their last climax, after trying to make up for seven years of absence with uncounted hours of passion. She can’t hide the undercurrent of reproach in her tone.

Goku looks up at her from where his head rests on her torso, his dark eyes made blacker in the dimness of the room. “Cuz, ChiChi, I didn’t wanna talk to you while King Kai was listening. Its private stuff, ya know? Besides,” he says, the whites of his eyes shining in the shadows. “I did reach you. Didn’t you feel it? I know I did.”

She smooths the spikes of his dark hair, recalling those instances when, yes, she could experience him in a way that went beyond the joining of bodies.

But though those instances were something beautiful and real and sensations she’ll never forget, she prefers this, having him here where he belongs.


	5. A Mother's Song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A ficlet I wrote a couple of months ago in honor of Mother's Day. It is somewhat inspired by the classic children's book "Love You Forever," but the lullaby ncluded in this fic is a famous Chinese lullaby called “Mommy is the Best in the World."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated G

When Gohan had been an infant, he slept in a crib in a separate room adjacent to theirs, where his wails would filter through the wall and wake them to attention during irreverent hours of the night. Between the two new parents, it was usually ChiChi who had to pacify the infant to sleep with her milk, singing him a lullaby that went:

_Mommy is the best in the world_  
_With a mom you have the most valuable treasure_  
_Jump into your mom’s heart_  
_And you will find happiness!_

_Mommy is the best in the world_  
_Without your mom, you are like a blade of grass_  
_Away from your mom’s heart_  
_Where will you find happiness?_

Her second son did not sleep in a crib and in his own room. He slept in the spot that had been Goku’s, close to her so that when he awoke with a whine or a wail, which he did less frequently than Gohan had but also somehow louder, momma would be right there.

She’d be there to sing him the same lullaby she had sung to Gohan, grumpy and exhausted yet thrilled for the miracle that he was.

.

.

And like his brother before him, as he grew older, she sang to him less, not from lack of wanting but because he was no longer an infant that needed coddling. But sometimes when she spotted her youngest splayed out on the couch with his round cherubic face streaked with drool that reminded her so much of his father, she lifted him into her toned arms and carried him into his bedroom, humming that same timeless lullaby.

And then sang to her husband after he returned to them, a different song this time, but one just as soothing and sweet, and then in time she sang to their grandchildren, her voice raspier and charmed with years, like the crinkled pages of a beloved book.

.

.

She sings until the day comes when her voice can’t go beyond a croaking whisper, until her bones can’t lift anything but her own paper-light skin.

As her youngest cradles her frail, failing body, he sings to her the loving verses she etched into his heart. The words he knows so well crack around the edges and flow thickly out his tongue, struggling the most as he sings, “without you mommy, I am like a blade of grass.”

Her other son repeats this line under his breath, while her husband tells her everything he’s ever felt for her with just one look.

Faces unmarred by their true years. Faces she knows and loves more than a song could ever tell.

As the last note drifts into the air, so does her soul, and as she looks down she sees there is a smile on her wrinkled lips.

She sends them each one last kiss, gentle as a breeze skittering across cheekbones, and then she waits.


	6. Anticipation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little something I wrote for GoChi week a few months ago. Rated T.

Seven years. Seven long, quiet years of being without her Goku, and finally, she was going to see him again.

After the wave of excitement she’d experienced upon hearing that her dear husband was returning from the dead for a day had subdued, she was left buzzing with another whirl of feelings for her to deal with. Anticipation. Anxiety. A bit of apprehension.

ChiChi was not the vain-type. She knew that she was an attractive woman and that Goku had even thought so when he’d been around, good-naturedly complimenting her in moments when they were alone. But despite being capable, comely and in good shape and health, being a widow had not been easy on her. 

She wondered, what would Goku, who probably hadn’t aged a year in the afterlife and had already been young-looking for his age before he died, think when he saw her? Would he notice- or more candidly- would he mind the new lines that cracked her face? The ones that came from heartbreak and age, from crying on nights when sporadic waves of grief came strongly and unexpectedly, from crumpling her features when overwhelmed with responsibilities that she often alone handled. 

The last thought chafed her insides with frustration.

Goku wasn’t coming back just to see them. He wasn’t taking a break from the afterlife because he wanted to celebrate one of their son’s birthdays (one of whose existence Goku remained unaware of) or to make love to her all day in honor of their anniversary, or for any other milestone of their lives. He was coming back for a tournament, to do the thing he was most passionate about.

She turned on the other side of her bed, staring at the empty pillow beside her. Closing her eyes, she sighed deeply, remembering the smile that had captivated her heart all those years ago, a smile that would never change and she’d always love.

No, she couldn’t, wouldn’t hold his passion against him. If it wasn’t for his love of fighting, there wouldn’t be anything left to celebrate because they wouldn’t exist, because this world wouldn’t exist, if Goku hadn’t sacrificed himself on more than one occasion.

And besides, ChiChi thought to herself, his passion for fighting wasn’t the same as his love for his family. She had a feeling that Goku wanted to win for them as he did for himself. They really did need the prize money. Feeding two half-breed Saiyans was financially draining, and time consuming. She wondered what it would be like if Goku did permanently return to live with them. The hours and money that she’d have to put in! But she’d happily do it, if it meant keeping her dearest husband until the end of her days.

Perhaps she should prepare him his favorite meal as a welcome gift. Maybe take a trip to the beauty salon, get herself a facial and wax her legs and, well, other areas, in case she and Goku got some alone time. She really did miss his touch, his scent and his aura. All of him. She wondered if he missed her too.


	7. For Them

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An in-canon Frieza Saga drabble from Goku's perspective. Rated G

As his lungs burn without air and sharp talons dig and shoot pain into his skull, fastening him below saline green waters, his mind floods with foreboding images.

The lifeless form of his best friend drifts into his mind and then pans out, giving way to a planet alien and green, before traversing the cosmos and zooming into the blue and green orb streaked with clouds he calls home. There, he sees the world up in smoke and reduced to rubble, and hears the desperate disembodied calls of his wife and his friends shouting: Goku!

An ear-splitting scream rises above like the flames engulfing this world, and then he sees her. Amidst the hellish blaze ChiChi materializes in a series of images, where she smiles and she frowns and she looks like the ChiChi he’s learned to love and build a life with. A life with her, and their son, Gohan, who in this wretched vision runs to him frightened and frantic as he calls out to him for help.

And then the face of the demon responsible appears, laughing and gloating with cruel sadism.

He then sees the faces of those he fights for, comrades and friends and rivals, and most importantly, of his family, before they fade away and the picture of Earth combusts in a shower of burning, amber shards.

A future of ruin. A future that may come to pass if he lets it. With a sudden swell of strength and determination, Goku regains control of his consciousness and surges forward in a burst of water and power, ready to fight once again.

Ready to fight for them.


	8. Warmth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First non-GoChi piece I'm posting here. Bulla x Pan drabble. There aren't enough f/f fics out there, and while this is a very small contribution, it's something. Rated G

A breeze breathes through the trees and sweeps her inky bangs back from her forehead, and soon after there is a soft hiss of air sucked in between teeth. 

“I told ya it’d be cold.” Pan’s tone is more sympathetic than admonishing, but that does not stop Bulla from rolling her eyes at Pan as she wraps her slender arms around herself, shivering. 

With an amused chuckle, Pan shrugs off her jacket and slings it around the other girl’s shoulders, feeling Bulla tense under the thick material.

“Oh you don’t have to-”

“Take it. I’m not that cold anyway.”

Bulla’s wind-burnt cheeks grow redder, smiling at her gratefully as she tightens the jacket around her delicate (yet strong) shoulders. Her blue hair is a bit in disarray from the wind and the fake-leather jacket clashes with the rest of her fashionable outfit, yet Pan thinks she’s never looked cuter. 

Around them, the world grows ever colder and things die in the autumn chill, but inside her something warm burns in her chest as if touched by the rays of a summer sun


	9. Hero

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Superman au. GoChi. Rated G.

“How long have you known?”

“Well, I’ve always kind of suspected it. Even with those green eyes and blond hair, you still have the same charming smile.” A smile that he gives her as soon as the words are out of her mouth. 

“But I wasn’t sure until just now.” Until he kissed her, until she tasted him in her mouth. “You knew I’d recognize you.”

The Super Saiyan- or Goku- nods at her in admittance. Seeing him now, she feels silly for not figuring it out sooner, though to be fair it is a rather good disguise. She wonders if what he wears is a wig, or hair dye, or even his real hair. She tugs at it to make sure. 

“Ow.”

“Sorry, just wanted to make sure if that’s your real hair. So is the black hair a wig?”

“Nah, that’s my real hair, too.”

“But how?”

The golden hue in his hair fades into black and the spikes relax into a less gravity-defying hairstyle, and the green in his eyes snuffs out into dark brown. 

She supposes at this point she shouldn’t be awed at this rapid change considering she’s seen him fly, take bullets as if they were foam pellets, and literally wish back time, yet her jaw still slackens. He truly was astonishing. 

But who was he really? Goku? The Super Saiyan? Or…

“Are you finished yet, Kakarot?” The crass voice comes from a shorter man floating several feet away from them, his arms crossed disdainfully.

“Yeah, yeah, just give me another minute.” The man that looks now like Goku turns back to her, caressing her chin with a touch so gentle one could forget how immensely strong he is. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Now that the buzz of the kiss is receding, ChiChi finds that she’s angry. All this time, he’d been hiding the truth from her. Lying to her. 

“To protect you.” It was a rather predictable reason but the way he said it and the affection in his eyes made her swallow back a new wave of guilt. It must not have been easy for him to keep a secret like this. 

“Why are you telling me now?”

“I might not come back from this,” he says, and the regret in his voice makes her heart crack. 

Reigning in the tears that threaten to leak, she wraps her arms his massive, compact frame. “You will. You always do.”

After all, this was the man, the hero, who once turned back time to bring her back to life. He was invincible. But most importantly, he was hers, in whatever shape he came in, whatever name he called himself. He was more than a hero to her. He was the man she loved.


	10. Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marten (Goten/Marron). In which Goten, age 22, is forced to take Marron, age 18, to her senior dance after her date bails out on her.

His mother adjusts the tie around his neck, tears welling in her eyes.

“Oh Goten, you look so handsome. Just like your father when we got married.”

“Well I’m definitely not getting married. And definitely not to Marron.”

The shimmering softness in her eyes evaporates as her brow folds in the middle.

“You be a gentleman to her, you hear? I want grandchildren, but not before marraige.”

Goten feels as if the tie is choking the air out of his lungs as he makes strangled noises, hot and sweaty in the face.

His father tries to mollify his mother’s anxiousness with a carefree chuckle and words of faith in his son, throwing an arm around her shoulders and the other one around his.

Despite his good intentions, Goten is still slightly miffed at him. Had it not been because of him and Krillin, Goten wouldn’t have been in this predicament. He wouldn’t have to be escorting a high school student to a dance he has absolutely no interest in attending, to a school he was never enrolled in and among kids at least three years younger than him.

But he’s now at her porch, wearing a rented tuxedo too stuffy for the summer heat while the car Trunks lent him idles soundlessly by the curb.

The person he was hoping not to answer the door answers it, her icy blue eyes sharp as she greets him. He continues to sweat and it’s not entirely due to the heat. Most guys are nervous getting passed the girl’s father. Goten knows all too well which parent is the fearsome one.

Not that 18 or Krillin need to worry about him doing inappropriate things to and with Marron. They’ve known him all of his life and are essentially family. But Goten thinks 18 isn’t too sure about that as he can feel her eyes beating down his back as she leads him into the living room.

He’s been in here a hundred times and he’s seen Marron more times than that but when he spots her, standing quietly just behind her father, it’s like he’s never really seen her before.

***

“Uh, I like your dress,” says Goten. It’s a watered-down compliment he wishes he would’ve swallowed.

Marron side-eyes him and sighs. “Please, just don’t. We both know why you’re here.”

His hand flexes on the wheel. He turns up the a.c. with his free hand, a corsage wrapped around his wrist. “Because we’re friends?”

“Because our dads are friends and my date bailed out on me and everyone felt sorry for me so now here you are. Doing me a favor we both don’t want.”

Her voice wavers slightly at the end, and in his peripheral he sees her eyes begin to glimmer. Shit.

“That stupid jerk! It’s all his fault. I better not see his face at the dance or I’ll… I’ll kick his sorry ass to the moon.”

Goten has absolutely no doubt that she can. Actually, 18 had been very close to tracking the boy down and reverting to her old murderous ways, but Krillin, honorable police officer that he is, prevented that by calling his father up to convince Goten to agree to being an emergency replacement.

He’d been in the middle of a phone-call with a super cute girl when his father bursted into his room and guilted him into becoming the last-minute date of the angry girl sitting beside him in passenger’s seat. An angry girl whose pastel pink dress would fool a man into thinking she would be incapable of splitting his head open with her heel.

Perhaps the boy deserves a mild ass-kicking, but Goten promised Krillin that he’ll take care of her, and that includes keeping her out of trouble.

Besides, now that her anger has abated somewhat after that sudden outburst, she looks a bit dejected.

“Hey, I have a better idea. How about if you see him, you show him that you’re having a good time without him?”

“But-”

“I’m warning you, I’m not the best dancer. But I’m sure you already know that! Remember that time Trunks bribed the bouncer into letting us into the club? When I was trying to impress a chick with some moves but then slipped on some beer or whatever it was and fell on my ass?”

Marron laughs, just as she did then, and he is momentarily captivated by the sound of it and the look of her yellow hair blowing in the wind as her head tilts back in laughter, and then a horn blares and he hastily swerves back to the right lane.

***

Mutiple pairs of eyes follow them from the parking lot into the ballroom, an actual ballroom, not a gym decked with paper streamers and hand-written banners.

Marron goes to a school with money and it shows. The students all look like models in a teen magazine and even the nerds are well-dressed.

A good deal of kids Goten doesn’t know nod at them, particularly her, as they meander their way deeper into the room, and isn’t long before they are swarmed with a group of her friends who fawn over her dress and cast curious, confused glances at him.

They were expecting someone else to be at her arm, a somebody who isn’t a hick from the mountains.

“Do you guys want a drink?” One of her friends asks, and before Goten can answer with “yes,” Marron punches him in the arm and whispers to him, “He means alcohol. You’re driving, remember?”

“Right. ”

“But I’m not!”

With that, she takes a deep pull from the flask that had been procured from the guy’s inner-pocket, gags and makes a revolted face at its taste, and then turns her eyes to him.

“Now I’m ready to dance.”

She swiftly drags him on to the dance floor.

***

“We’re going to have to get you some food after this.”

Partly to cover the faint smell of booze on her person, partly to get her to sober up.

“It was just one swig. I’ll be fine.”

He sure hopes so, or he is a dead man dancing, if you can call what he’s doing dancing.

It doesn’t matter. Marron is smiling and moving in a way that he didn’t know she could move. He still senses a bit of uneasiness in her, catches her eyes occasionally sweeping the room for a person in particular, but she becomes increasingly distracted by the music and energy flowing in around them.

The lights flicker on her like incandescent butterflies as she dances to an old-school synth pop song, waving her limbs in mesmerizing patterns that hold his attention to the point he stops dancing and only stares. As do some of the other students, mostly guys fascinated by how good she looks.

Goten shakes his head. How good she looks?

She’s a high school student and he’s in college. She may be of age but she’s always been like a sister to him, the brat with ponytails who is always at their family gatherings and teases him about his awkwardness with girls.

But isn’t that why they had stopped hanging out outside of those gatherings? Because at some point the age gap was too significant for them to continue to do the things they did as kids without it being weird.

She abruptly stops her movements before the song ends, and soon she is exiting the dance floor and pushing past the crowd, ignoring his call to her.

He follows her outside, to the other end of the building where only a few miscreants loitering between the dumpsters and smoke a sweet - smelling herb, sparing them a moment of interest in their drama.

“What’s wrong, what happened?”

“I saw him. He was with fucking Merideth Plum! She’s a total cum dumpster and isn’t even that cute!”

He would’ve found the use of the term “cum-dumpter” to be amusing if not for Marron being clearly upset.

“I really want to hurt him. Hurt her. I know it’s wrong, because I’m so much stronger than they are, but I can’t help it. I have my dad’s caring nature but my mother’s quick, vengeful temper.”

Her fists are balled and shaking, and she looks somewhere in between bursting into tears and eviscerating them with her bare hands.

Goten’s feet move ahead of his brain, and before either one of them can react differently, he pulls her into his arms. She stiffens at first, and he’s almost sure she’s going to push him away and deck him in the face, and he almost wants her to because he’s way too aware of her closeness, but then she relaxes and wraps her arms around his back.

He breathes out, uneven, and his voice tries to be steady as he says, “I didn’t just agree to be your date because our dads wanted us to. I’m here because I care, and I don’t want you to be hurt.”

He hears her sigh into his shoulder, her breath warm against his jacket. He hasn’t hugged her in years, since between the realisation that cooties aren’t real and the awareness that she grew breasts.

“It’s funny. I’m not even that hurt anymore. I’m mostly upset at the fact anyone would stand me up. I’m too cute for that.”

“You are.” The words fly out of his mouth and he can’t catch them. He fumbles for a retraction, an explanation as he feels her tense up . “Objectively, that is.”

When she lifts her chin up to him, he sees a small smile on her lips that seems to make its way down his spine and spread out to his chest, and he disengages from her in haste. “So you wanna blow this joint, get some food?”

“Not yet. We still haven’t slow-danced.”

He sees her playfully relish the abashed twitch of his features as all the romcom cliches about high school dances, particularly slow-dancing scenes, come swarming into his head.

That doesn’t stop him from following her into the dance floor when the lights dim and the music slows, meanwhile his heart does the opposite of dim and slow.


	11. The White Snake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More GoChi. I wrote this a few months ago for GoChi Week and forgot to post here. Rated G. As the title implies, it's based on the famous Chinese legend. Kept it simple with this one, like the tales in children's storybooks.

From beneath the surface of the water, she sees him: the young human who treks to the mountains every so often to train his body and focus his mind. He moves as swiftly as currents, and his body looks as strong and powerful as the rocks that rise high and line the edges of the lake. 

She would love nothing more than to reach out to him and let herself be known, but not in her current shape, her true form, and not out here where it would seem odd for a woman to be alone in the mountains. Human men are often warned about such women, for some have been revealed to be spirits or demons.

So she waits.

She does so until the day of the Spring Festival, when all the villagers gather and revel until sunrise.

She’s traded in her scales for skin; her tail for limbs.

And as expected, he’s here, weaving blithely among the crowds.

Their eyes meet briefly, and she can feel his eyes remain on her as she passes him.

“Excuse me,” she hears him say from behind her, and when she turns to him, he’s holding her favorite hair pin, the one she had purposely dropped in the hopes that he would notice. “I think you dropped this.”

Their fingers brush against each other as she takes the pin from his grasp, and not long after this encounter do they become united in both body and spirit.

And as their love for each other grows, so does her belly and her happiness. She wonders if when it’s born, it will show any signs of what she truly is on its features, or if it will have more of its father, more human, all flesh and no scales.

They live in a cottage built of bamboo on a foundation rising from surface of the lake, so that she can be near the water. He thinks she loves the water because she’s always lived near it, and he has no suspicions that the truth is that she’s lived in it. 

Their home is where she teaches him which plants heal and which plants harm and how to create remedies from these plants to sell and treat the sick.

The effectiveness of his remedies brings them many customers from near and far, some too poor to afford treatment anywhere else, and his generosity to those who cannot pay makes him a hero in the eyes of many.

It is the reputation of his kindness and devotion that one day draws in the attention and unexpected visit of a monk, the orange wash of his robes setting off panic in her nerves. When their eyes meet and lock on each other, there is a mutual silent scream in them.

“Your wife is a snake spirit,” he states as he reaches for the prayer beads wrapped around his wrist in ominous preparation.

Her husband shields her from the intended attack with his large frame, looming over the shorter holy man with threat tense in his shoulders.

“Leave, Krillin, before I force you to.”

“Goku…” the monk mutters her husband’s name with a distinct level of familiarity, and it occurs to her that until mere seconds ago the two men hadn’t exchanged names.

“Because of our history, I will make no further attempt on your wife’s life. However, I will leave you with this.” From within his robe, he retrieves a vial of powder. “This is realgar. Mix it into cereal wine and offer it to her. Should she refuse to drink, it means she is hiding something from you, but if she should drink from it, you will see her true form. Either way, you will learn the truth. And you,” he says, now shifting his gaze to address her, and though his tone is stern and his words threatening, there is some sympathy in his eyes, “You have the chance to confess before that measure is taken.”

Days go by and the powder is left untouched. Their domestic routine goes by as usual, yet she can see stiffness in his movements and reservation in his tone, and she knows he is doubtful. He is right to be so.

Yet she cannot bring herself to confess, and he cannot bring himself to prepare the wine, and so more days go by until one day he makes his choice.

“I know you’re not a demon. This will not harm you. You are my wife and I love you.”

Because she still cannot force the words out of her mouth as freely as the tears leaking out of her eyes, she drinks, and for the first time she lets him see her.

The last thing her eyes register before losing consciousness is her husband gasping in shock and then in pain as he clutches his heart.

***

His prone form is sprawled on the floor when she comes to. The vitality that used to exude from him in lively streams is gone.

***

She knows all about herbs, it was she who taught her beloved all that he knew about them, but she did not teach him everything.

At the top of Mount Emei grows a rare and magic herb that only spirits such as herself know how to safely use.

As she prepares this concoction, she thinks about their love, and pours that into the drink. 

By the time she is finished, she admits in thought that it was not the monk who destroyed their lives; it was her lie.

When she returns to their home in her maiden form he is where she left him, still unmoved and untouched by anything except the pallor of death, which then subsides as she gingerly pours the elixir through his lifeless lips and watches as color bleeds back into his handsome face. 

“ChiChi…”

The eyes that meet her hold neither fear nor loathing, only the affection he has ever looked at her with, and ever will.

She has never seen anything as beautiful, except for the pink face of their son on the day he is born perfect and complete.

The End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I miss getting comments. Send more my way? Even a "hello" will do lmao.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos, comments, bookmarks, etc., are appreciated! I'll post something new every few days.


End file.
